


The Other Side of Paradise

by vbligs



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vbligs/pseuds/vbligs
Summary: The Mojave brings out the best, and the worst, in people.





	1. Chapter 1

Tristan knew he was trouble, especially with that molerat-ass ugly coat, checkered like bullshit, and a gamblers touch to boot. They knew even when he shot them. Tristan liked trouble.

Tristan also liked this part of the mission. The dress up, a tux or a gown, always a question that needed the perfect answer. Whatever, gown it was, red and sparkly, pre-war, as everything they owned was. Complete with a swatch of lipstick and heels so sharp they probably had knives in them, Tristan was a look and a half, slipping on a leather duster, pristine and untouched by the Mojave. They sauntered up Freeside into Vegas, eyes sharp behind a pair of customary shades. Strutting into the Tops like they owned the place - probably used to, two-hundred some years ago. Maybe. Tristan couldn't remember, the army wasn't known for its precision, mostly just mass production of the cryo pods Tristan had lain dormant in.

"Hey there baby. welcome to the To-oh wo-ho-hoah! Hey there, you lookin for some fu-uh!" The Chairman greeter looked taken aback as Tristan grabbed his tie, eyes downright murderous as he started to sweat, regret filling his mind as he wish he could take back that half assed comment from a second ago.

"Listen close you overgrown doorknob, my name is Tristan Gutierrez and I want to see Benny  _fucking_ Gecko, you shitlipped  _pig_ ," the hold they had on him was starting to choke, and he gulped, trying to release the pressure of his necktie. 

"Listen, baby, but Benny don't want no one botherin' him. Boss man says he needs some 'Ben-man time,' you dig?"

He knew in a second it was the wrong response, as Tristan dragged him ever closer, spittle landing on his face as their voice grew gradually louder, until it was _**booming**_ through the Tops, half the high rolling patrons looking up, pushing against chem-stupor, just to check out the action.

"Listen up you prick, I don't know if you can tell, but I'm pre- _fucking_ -war. You know what that means? I ain't no  _fucking_ Blue- Nah, I'm a  _goddamn_ freezer burnt war-machine. You know what two hundred years of cryo does to you? It makes you **_angry_**. It makes you  _ **creative**_. I can take your eyeballs without leaving a scratch to the rest a'ya pretty,  _stupid_ , face. I could kill you right now and you'd still look living. Hell, I could tear your empty little head off that neck-a yours. I'm over two hundred years old and shot not once, not twice, nah, fucking more than I got the  _time_  to  _recall_ shot in the head!  _ **Now**_ _**bring me Benjamin Gecko or I will cut your dick off and make a soup out of it, you over-gelled son-of-a-bitch fifties wannabe!**_ "

The greeter falls on his ass as Tristan lets go of his tie, too shaken up to be much help. Tristan groans, never one for patience anyways, and sways through the bodies to find the ugly suited bastard who gave them two quick caps to the temples. They liked the look in its symmetry, Inigo Montoya-esque as it was, ironic as the character was basically on the same sorta quest. What a bunch of shit.

Two stepping past some broad blowing on dice - god, this was so cheesy, did they get the getup from old film reels? - and sidling up the stairs,  ** _there_** , there was Benny. Stupid checker-print suit and dumb face. When they'd originally saw him, Tristan had been inclined to laugh. He looked like a character from a pre-war TV show - F.R.I.E.N.D.S. - Benny Gecko looked like a crossbreed of a potato, a chessboard, and Chandler. Thinking on it now tempered their rage, turning white hot lava into cold hard steel, a sword, a tool, something to be used to  _cut Benny Gecko's **fucking** head off_. This is usually how the - off topic. Moving on, their brain reprimanded them, before Tristan's eyes snapped back onto Benny. It was straight out of an old movie, a noir detective one where the pretty one is the killer, sidling up to Benny with snake eyes. Too much makeup, too different look - gone was the Wastelander gear, so it took a hot second for him to even realize who he was talking to. Tristan used that perk up until it ran dry as the wells in the radiation soaked centaur nests of the Mojave.

And Tristan didn't even need to make the first move.

Apparently, Benny hadn't heard them yelling up front, too much background noise maybe, and when he saw them sidling up, eyes dewy and latched onto him, he waved back the guards and fixed up his 'suave' grin. To Tristan, it was a pale imitation of the time they grew up in.

"Hello mama. What's got your charlies a teedle-boppin' around, baby? Somethin' wrong with ol' Benny's casino? Somethin' the Ben-man can make right for a pretty dame like you?" Benny leaned on his heels, used to being so much bigger, put off by how he had to tilt his chin up to look at this strange vision in the middle of his tables. PArted lips, a mohawk that would look bad on most looking sharp as a knife on this chick- hey-hey, this broad's got it cookin'. He felt like an old cartoon of a dog, eyes poking out and tongue lolling as he panted. Hoo-wow! She was a babe!

Tristan couldn't keep it up, the shitty impersonation of the gambling Al Capone wannabe in front of them made them snicker, much to Benny's confusion. "Oh, what a joke this must seem to you, Benny-boy, d'ya not recognize me? Maybe this'll jog your memory-" And with that, Tristan swiped away some makeup hiding the meteor-like scars on their temples.

Benny went paler than the platinum chip itself, oh, what a sight to behold, and gulped, pushing the words "What in the goddamn-" out, half cut off as Tristan placed a calloused finger on his lips.

"'Nough of that, you package stealing fuck. Surprised to see me?" God, drawing this out was sweet pleasure to them, better than any fuck, any high, hell, better than when Tristan found a whole storage room of pre-war alcohol and drugs! "Benny-boy, you think you can get rid of this sweet mug so easy? Ha!"

Benny shook under his suit, wanting to call his guards. This dame was no joke, he thought the radio was lying when reports came out about Tristan, but- Damn, can't a plan go off without a hitch anymore? Apparently not. He sighed, steeling his spine as he stepped back, "Woah-ho-ho baby, lets keep it real smooth, like smooth babies, ya hear? Don't go all cool cat on me baby, we can talk this out, whaddya say? VIP tour a'my place, I swear, let's just keep it nice and easy, yeah baby?"

Tristan mulled it over, like one of those old time wine tasters, letting the thought sit and ferment in their mind, their most-likely-scrambled brain, before looking back at him, and grinning like a Deathclaw. "Nah, your time's up, Benny-boy. Talking it out was about, oh, two bullets ago? Yeah- nah, lets take this little chit-chat private so I can get a real, honest answer out of you, you goddamned sleazy prick," they hissed, stepping on his toes and grinding their foot, causing him to wince, let out a little groan even, as they led him by the lapels of his checkerboard suit and striped tie, back,

back,

back,

into the elevator to floor thirteen.


	2. Floor Thirteen And What A Lobotomy Does To Your Mental And Emotional State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im writing this chapter while disassociating and listening to peggy lee johnny guitar dont even look at me im sad and gay and deviating from the actual script

As Benny got pulled into the elevator, he briefly wondered where the  _fuck_ his guards were, before remembering he'd sent them away. All because of this dame - God! - was oh so fucking dumb. He shouldn't have sent them off, and now look where he was, stuck in an elevator with a bitch who just wouldn't stay dead. Benny gulped down a lump in his throat, prying his tie and lapels out of Tristan's fingers, dusting himself off, before looking at them, restoring his usual cocky airs, "Damn, baby, if you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask. I didn't know you liked it rou-"

Tristan cut him off, pressing a hand lightly to his throat, turning him on while simultaneously scaring the shit out of him, "Listen hot-shot, I'm calling it here, not you. Now be a good baby and shut the fuck up, your shitty imitation of a mobster grates on my nerves, Benny-boy." It didn't, really. Now that they had him right where they wanted him, Tristan got to cool off, sub sequentially looking over and analyzing Benny Gecko, the bastard. Tristan liked the way he held himself, even if it wasn't emulating the times perfectly. Tristan liked the way he talked, the 'baby's and the shitty analogies made them suppress a shitty grin. Hell, Benny reminded Tristan of Seville, back before the firebomb, back when the two of them stole from Tina and drove Jeeps into the barracks at three am. Good times. But these times were at hand and Tristan needed to focus, but, it never hurt to have a little fun, right? Wrong- no- Shit, this was...this was the guy who shot them twice! Why the fuck... Tristan couldn't afford to spiral into emotional fuck-up zone, couldn't afford to lose focus - they were losing it, hand gripping a bit harder on Benny's windpipe, making the poor guy sweat. 

"Ye-hah, hey there kitten, mind easing off the breathing tube? A guy's gotta have that to live, y'know?" Benny reached up and grabbed Tristan's wrist, eyes tracing the slow blush on the- hold up, blush? "Shit baby, is this your kink?"

...

Jesus Christ, sure, the plan was to seduce then kill him, but this?

Jesus Christ.

Tristan snarled, pushing away from him and standing across from him in disgust, "Jesus Christ, and here I was relaxing, thinking- Jesus Benny-boy, I oughta - Je-sus!" They were interrupted by the doors dinging, and before Benny could bounce, they grabbed his wrist and dragged him to his shitty little apartment, much to his astonishment.

"Oh-ho-ho, you think I didn't know about all this shit? Yeah Benny baby, nothing gets by ol' Sixer. Nothing. Not even your lying ass. Now, where the  _fuck_ did you put the chip. I want answers, and I want them now. Don't test me you Chandler-looking fuck."

Benny didn't even know how to process that last bit, but the chip? That he knew. "The chip? Baby, I got it, don't even wo-" And he was cut off,  _again_ , Tristan seemingly having no patience, no time, no anything. A hiss, a growl, and up in his face as they growled, "Don't. Call. Me. Baby." He grinned, pushing back, this was his casino, and the fleeting moments of courage were all he had keeping him safe, and knocking Tristan off balance onto the bed, pinning them down? Par for the court baby, all was good. "Now you listen here, baby, I say what I want, and seeing as I got the upper hand here, looks like you better answer my- ouff!"

Nevermind.

Benny groaned, rolling onto his side, as Tristan's knee retracted from where his groin used to be, sitting up while they were at it and grimacing, "I...really did not want to do that."

... _What?_

Benny's mind went all sorts of directions, first off, Tristan made it clear that they were gonna kill him. Second - what the  _fuck_?

"What...What do you mean, 'you didn't want to do that,' kitten? You're out here gunnin' for my blood, but you - where's the logic in that, baby? Huh?" Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked at her with a cocked eyebrow and a grin turned grimace turned something else. "What does that even mean, baby?"

"I...don't...know. I don't know. Shut up," Another shove, and he falls off the bed, and he can tell Tristan's hurting, hands grabbing at the scars on their face, brow clenched up tighter than a noose, random words in languages he didn't even understand falling from their lips.

It was when Tristan pulled out the silenced .22 with the safety off that Benny got nervous.

"Woah, woah, baby, baby, let's not be rash, you wanted answers, and I can see you're hurting, and hey, maybe we can get that all fixed, c'mon. Don't be dumb and toss out the only chance you got for answers."

"Shut up-"

Christ, they were one sick mama, waving that gun around, waving it everywhere but Benny- wait.

Benny stood up, frown marring that usual guise of city slicker he wore, and approached Tristan as if they were a wild animal, hands out, slowly, "Hey, hey baby, what's the matter with you? Five- Five minutes ago you were about ready to cut my dick off, and now- Jesus, you okay baby?" He didn't know why he cared. He could let Tristan die, or lose their shit, or whatever, it shouldn't matter - but the idea of this unkillable courier dying by their own bullet in a fit of brain fried fog, cause of him...well, that didn't sit right with Benny. No siree, not at all. So when he managed to sidle up to Tristan, he, for once, wasn't thinking about himself. He was hoping to God that Tristan would calm the fuck down and go back to being a hard as nails pop-ice. "Baby, baby," its a mantra, he's murmuring it as he takes the gun from them, and sets it on the bedside table, and when he turns to look at Tristan's face, and he almost jumps right out of his skin when he sees all the makeup smeared in big black tear tracks down their face, knee brace creaking as they fold in on themself, like origami, body shaking with little sobs as they wheeze out, "Je-Jesus Benny, what the fuck did you do to me? Why- Why'd you fu-fuck me up this ba-ad?" Voice cracking, face and hair a mess, Benny can't even recognize the person in front of him. First time he saw them, they threatened him with a trusty 10 mm, then he shot them. It was a power trip, and knowing he was being hunted, at least, a little, left him feeling...uncomfortable as he saw a raw, emotional remnant of Tristan. Soft radio playing in the background - was that what set them off? - and silent sobs, never made for a good combination. What the hell had  _happened_ to Tristan out in the Mojave?

"Hey, baby, you wanna talk?" Why was he being so sweet? This was the bastard that was ruining his plans, but he couldn't bring himself to be a dick. Benny, instead of seeing Tristan the Unkillable, saw Sixer, a fucked up remnant of whatever the lobotomy and two bullets didn't take away. "What's got you in the blues, baby?" Baby this, baby that, but saying it seemed to help, seemed to make them smile, so he kept it up. He felt dumb doing it, but he persisted, even taking a chance and pressing one hand on their back, shocked at how bony yet incredibly muscular Tristan was. You could count their vertebrae, something was wrong - he wanted - Jesus.

"Benny, Benny, why'd you shoot me?"

He- He didn't have an answer for that, eyes flicking left as he exhaled, not lifting his hand away from their back, a steady rock in the whirl of emotion that consumed Tristan. "I - uh - I didn't, well, I-" HE couldn't answer that, he didn't know  _how_ to answer that. What was he even supposed to say? 'Oh, I blew your brains out because I want a fancy piece of hardware that looks like a poker chip, and if I have it, I can rule New Vegas.' That wasn't an answer, that was a death sentence.

Tristan took it for an answer, even though he stammered some bullshit, sighing as they tucked away all those pesky emotions, "I'll...I'll see you later, Benny. Don't leave quite yet."


End file.
